


On the Top Shelf

by StarryDreamer



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Multi-Era, post med-pod
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 01:10:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9212789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryDreamer/pseuds/StarryDreamer
Summary: There was a reason Fitz loved the chairs on the library's ninth floor and it wasn't because they were comfy and worn, nor because they were thought to be lucky.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A repost from FFN. This story was based off a word prompt from @amandajbruce to get me out of a writer's block. The prompt was "shelf." If you haven't yet read this at FFN, I hope you enjoy it!

Hidden away, deep on the ninth floor of the Academy’s library were a pair of ratty old chairs.  The striped fabric had long faded, but the softness of the cushions had somehow survived the years.  There was even a superstitious belief that the chairs were lucky, endowing its possessors with unhindered intelligence and creativity.  It was a long held belief that the likes of Bruce Banner and Tony Stark had each taken up residence in the comfort of the aged chairs when they’d each attended the school. 

Fitz had always scoffed at the legend.  He’d argued that it was likelier that Stark had never even seen the inside of the library and that Banner had been far too shy and probably would’ve hidden away in the all-night laboratories testing out his gamma ray solutions.  Besides, he’d pointed out, there was no such thing as luck. Fitz believed that each person made their own destiny through their own intelligence and creativity.  No chair could give a person that.  

_ Well _ , he thought smugly.   _ No chair that had been invented yet. _

Despite Fitz’s protests, every morning when the library would open its upper floors, it was a race to see which student would be the first to secure the lucky chairs.  More often than not, as the elevator chimed open and the first of the students filtered eagerly onto the floor, it was Fitz whom they always found sitting smugly in the chair with his knapsack reserving the other for Jemma Simmons.

His classmates would curse and shoot him dirty looks, wondering how he’d beaten them there.  But Fitz, never one to share his secrets, always stayed silent, never letting on that he’d long obtained copies of the campus’ blueprints from the old, never digitally published SSR archives.  Therein he’d discovered an alternative emergency stairwell which allowed him entrance into the building from the basement and which passed by, conveniently, the ninth floor.

There was a reason he loved those chairs and it wasn’t because they were comfy or worn in and it certainly wasn’t because they were thought to be lucky. For Fitz, the reason he loved those chairs was because at the exact time that Jemma would join him for their daily study and brainstorming session, the sunlight would filter through the window, hitting one of the chairs-- the one Jemma sat in-- perfectly.  It did so in such a way that it softened her features and made her skin come alive right before his eyes.  What he’d never admit to aloud, was that in the glow of the morning sunlight she looked beautiful.

And so, while Jemma studied in the adjoining chair, Fitz would pretend that he was drafting designs for his latest gadget.  Thankfully, Jemma never questioned why he’d always look up and at her while he drew on his tablet.  He had a number of excuses readied, but never had to use them.   Jemma was perfectly content to focus on her own notations and rarely questioned what Fitz was up to.  If he believed in luck, maybe Fitz would’ve thought the chairs were lucky after all.  Instead, he suspected that she likely figured he’d share with her when he was good and ready to.

The truth though, was that he was never really ever ready to share his drawings with her. Certainly not the ones he’d created while sitting on the comfy chairs of the library’s ninth floor.  

Several times he’d practically forgotten what he’d done with the flash drive that held all of his sketches.  With each new move, the red rectangular flash drive would reappear in one box or another and Fitz would tuck it away on his bookshelf.  He knew that Jemma, being shorter, would never think to snoop on his top shelf.  

So, the flash drive sat behind a stuffed monkey and next to a photo of him and his mum.  It had been almost 10 years since their time at the Academy and despite their many transfers, no one was ever the wiser as to what was hidden on the top shelf and eventually even Fitz forgot about it.  

Then he died.

It was only for a minute or two, but it had been enough to leave him comatose for nine days.  Nine days wherein people believed it wasn’t possible for him to pull through.  Everyone, that is, except Jemma. She insisted that he was stubborn, that he would never bow to expectation.  He was a fighter.   _ Her _ fighter.  

She’d sat by his bedside for every hour of every one of those nine days until eventually he did defy all expectations and awoke. The first thing he saw was Jemma’s tentative smile as she stood at the foot of his bed, her face flooded by the morning sunlight.  He’d attempted to motion for his tablet, tried to even ask for it, but no one-- not even Jemma-- understood what he was asking for.  All simply shrugged in confusion and looked at him with sorrow in their eyes and sympathy in their hearts.  His frustration plagued him until he was finally able to speak again.  

By then, however, his damaged mind had long forgotten the image he’d woken up to.

He’d also forgotten entirely about the flash drive that was still hidden on his top shelf.

Sometime during his recovery his things got packed away into boxes.  The Bus, he was told, had been converted and would no longer be a living residence for agents.  He’d nodded his head even though he didn’t really understand the reasoning.  

When he finally collected his non-essential items from storage, Skye helped him unpack.  He silently hoped that Jemma would join them, but a voice in his head reminded him that they’d barely spoken since she’d returned from being undercover.

It was Skye who found the red flash drive, tucked deep inside an unlabelled box.  She held it up and asked him if he knew what was on it and a rush of incomprehensible thoughts flooded his brain.  He remembered that red was for important documents, but he had no solid recollection of what could possibly be on that flash drive in particular.  

So he shrugged and turned away, not really caring because even if there was important documents on it, he was fairly certain that he would not be able to discern its purpose anyway.

“But it might be porn,” Skye said, laughter in her voice in an attempt to alleviate the constant tension that followed Fitz.

He shook his head. “It’s-- it’s… Not porn.  Red,” he added.  “Means urgent.  Im-important.”

Her smile faltered slightly.  “So what then?”

Fitz averted his gaze and focused on a box of his old Academy textbooks.  “You…k-keep.”  He said pulling out a book and placing it on the top shelf of his bookshelf.

Skye eyed him oddly but pocketed the flash drive anyway.  She had a sinking feeling that there was more than just documents on it.

She was right.

“Well,” she said aloud, calling Hunter’s attention a few hours later in the common room.  “It’s not the kind of porn I’d imagined…”

“Porn?” Hunter asked, scurrying to her side. “Show me.”

Skye rolled her eyes and pointed to her laptop’s screen and scrolled through the numerous images.

“But it’s just Simmons,” he said, disappointed. “With clothes on…”

“What’s me?”  Both agents turned toward source of the question, their eyes wide with surprise.   “What are you two doing?”  Jemma asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at the two agents.

Skye looked at Hunter and Hunter looked back at Skye.  Neither wanted to be the one to tell Jemma what they’d discovered.  So instead, Skye plucked the flash drive from the USB port and tossed it toward her friend.  

“What is it?” Jemma asked, holding the flash drive between her fingers and examining it with curiosity.

Skye shrugged and stood up, dragging Hunter from the room.  “Food for thought?”  She called from the hallway.  It wasn’t an answer and it certainly provided Jemma with no clear understanding as to what she was holding.

Jemma thought she had seen the flash drive before, had even recognized the colour coding on its shell to be Fitz’.  But it wasn’t until she saw its contents, drawn with care and precision  _ and love _ so many years ago, that she knew what she needed to do.

“Hi Fitz,” she said tentatively, stepping into the light of his bedroom.  There was a soft, practiced smile on her face but her fingers twisted anxiously at her waist.

“Je-Jemma.  Hi,” he said, waving her in nervously as he put the last of his books onto the bookshelf.  “Is everything…” He paused, unable to find the right word in his jumbled mind.

She allowed her smile to grow broader.  “Oh yes.  Perfect.”  She held out the flash drive in the palm of her hand.  “I think this belongs to you though.”

“I gave it to Skye.”

“Do you remember what was on it?”  Jemma asked gently and he shook his head.  She held the flash drive out further.  “Then you should take it.”

“Why?” He asked, confused, still refusing her offer.

Jemma remained silent and walked over to his newly set up bookshelf.  She pushed up onto the very tips of her toes and reached as high as she could to place the flash drive on to its top shelf.

“You might not remember,” she said with authority in her voice as she turned back to face him.  “But I do.  I remember everything about those couches on the library’s ninth floor and why you always wanted me to sit nearest to the window.”  She exhaled a deep and shaky breath.  “And I want you to remember why too.  When you’re ready, that is.  Because I am.”

With a turn of her heel, she exited his room, wondering when and if he might look at what was on that flash drive.  She hoped that then, maybe things would finally change for them.


End file.
